Silent Hill: Remnant
by Laura-CWright
Summary: The journal of 18-year-old Evan Townsend. Evan came to Silent Hill in search of his father after a mysterious postcard arrived in the mail. His arrival in Silent Hill is only the beginning, he eventually sees just what his father really was.
1. Chapter 3

3.

Third day, no change. I did do some exploring today. I decided to go for a walk this morning when no one showed up to work here, yet again. I visited the old Lakeside Amusement Park. I thought it was deserted, but someone's supplying power. I visited the "Borley Haunted House." It was hilarious.

I found one of my father's photos in the Fortune House. I think he'd visited there. But, the psychic room didn't even offer a psychic, just more emptiness. What is going on with you, dad? The picture of Toluca Lake just had, "Little Baroness Sign," written on it, dad's handwriting. I walked for hours trying to figure out what that meant. Was it a place to eat? A bar? A ride?

Eventually, I found a historical marker on the docks that explained the ship had sunk in 1918. For some strange reason, I kept seeing the word "Hannah," in my head, but I can't explain why. I don't know anybody named Hannah. In school, I liked Monica. Frankie liked Ella. But, I can't recall anyone named Hannah. I don't really know what happened to Monica after graduation, it all seems so hazy. Sometimes it's hard to believe three months have even passed.

The ever-present mist outside is the softest fog, it's hard to explain. The lights drifted out across the lapping water. I wish dad could've been there. I didn't understand why he wrote that on his picture. It was a picture of me when I was a kid. Someone had carved, "313," in the post. They could've been more specific. Was it the time? The date, the month and day? It could be an address, but there was no street name. It will come to me.

I am so bored. I wish I could talk to another person. I tried my hand on the piano in the restaurant, but I can't play. The only real music I've came across is that damned music box in the lobby. There is something awfully strange here. The doors are open, but no one ever comes to work. Sometimes, the room doors are open, but you never see guests. 

I don't have to worry about access with the key, thankfully. If I had to wait on someone, I think I would've starved to death, by now. I can go anywhere, now. Maybe there's something in town. I'm a little afraid to explore very far. When I stepped out of my car, after I crashed it, I could've sworn I saw a thing. A creature. A monster. I don't know what it was. I just remember it had no head. Actually, there was something akin to ahead on top of it, but it looked like a muddy plastic film had been stretched across a human body. I could see beneath it in spots and it was like peering through skin on a body.

I passed out. When I woke, it was gone. The sun had also gone and this thick, white fog was everywhere. I don't know how long I was out. I waited for two hours for someone to pass me after I woke, but there weren't any other cars on the road. No travelers. No cops.

This has really made me think of things. I remembered when mom disappeared. I'm just reliving that again with my last parent. Dad acted strange for a long time when she vanished. It wasn't emotional; he didn't break down or anything. It was just distant. Maybe that was his way of dealing with it. I guess everyone's different. He was frigid for around a year. For a time, I thought he was suspicious. I hate to say that now. Look at things. I shouldn't have felt that way about him. My suspicions were brief, he was soon back to his old self. He seldom talked about her, though. I wish I could've heard more about her before he was gone. I didn't get to tell him goodbye, either.

The two situations are almost identical, only I didn't have the protective embrace of a loving parent to find security in this time. Dad told me he came home, found the door wide open and mom was gone. He looked all around. I was at school when it was first discovered. I thought it was just like any other day. Mom watched me get on the bus, same as always. I never dreamed that was the last time. I never dreamed she would leave without saying goodbye. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore those comfortable stretchy pants and a huge tee-shirt, her choice clothing at home. She said you'd never have a home unless you felt comfortable enough to be yourself in it.

Who could've taken her? Why did they take her? We live in the tiny town of Ashfield. I mean it's not exactly New York City or anything. People just don't disappear for no reason. She had no enemies, no one wanted her dead or anything. I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now.

This place is very strange. I can't stay in this hotel forever. I'm starting to feel incredibly isolated from the world. I need to get out. I need to at least try to find someone else.


	2. Chapter 4

4.

The solitude finally got to me. I couldn't take this place any longer so I thought I'd see if anyone else lived anywhere. I hiked into town, outside the resort area. I don't think I'm ever leaving the resort again. I don't know if it would do any good. I thought I had gone insane. As a matter of fact, that would be the most logical and rational explanation behind what has happened. I have lost my mind. Or maybe I'm dead. I don't know which could possibly be worse. This may not be hell, precisely, but it's a lot like Purgatory or something like that. I guess… hell, I don't know.

On a positive note, I ran into several people, which is the only positive thing I can say right now. I met a man named James Sunderland. He was traveling with a woman named Maria. They said they were searching for a young girl named Laura, something about James searching for his wife, who was supposed to be dead. I wonder how many people come to Silent Hill to find their loved ones. I can't help, but wonder why those loved ones come here in the first place. Maybe we've all collectively gone mad.

I think this was all a mistake. Why did I ever think my father came _here_? Sure, he may've enjoyed his visits here, but you know, I don't really remember any of them. Why didn't he choose a spot I knew? We camped often, why didn't he want me to go to the campground? Why here? What if the postcard was just sent by some weirdo? What if it had nothing, whatsoever, to do with my father? Why was I so certain it did?

I saw something today. I think it is the same creature I saw when I wrecked. It's a humanoid figure, but it looked like a sheet of thin skin was stretched across the head and torso. A oozing wound on its chest spat out the most disgusting substance. The muck looked corrosive. James called them the "lying figures." There were several of those in town. I first just outran them. That seemed like the best approach. He also told me I needed a weapon. I don't know why. I don't plan on staying so there's no real need to settle in or anything. James told me never to visit the Brookhaven Hospital or any other large building in town. Why couldn't I visit the hospital? Unless… maybe dad's in the there? Maybe he had an accident of some kind and he's been in the hospital this whole time? Maybe he hasn't been conscious enough to tell the medical staff he has a son.

I can't figure out how to get out of Silent Hill. I haven't found a single working engine, I didn't even bother visiting my own car. It won't make it to a garage and, no telephone numbers work here, so there's no hope for a tow truck. I don't know if I'll ever make it out. Not even the cop cars here function in any way.

I visited the Silent Hill Historical Society. It was empty, of course, but it did provide a brief look into this town. It's not normal. There was a massive hole in the wall in the back room, but I didn't dare explore it. Who knows what could be down there? Maybe, if I ever see James again, I'll ask him about it. The steps appeared to be endless, just down, down, down.

I walked down Nathan Avenue. I found "Petes Bowl-A-Rama" and an abandoned "Texxon" gas station. I briefly saw signs for a place called "Heaven's Night Club," but it looked just as empty as the other places. I explored a little of the Rosewater Park, but had a bad feeling there. Maybe something was down there, I don't know.

At least there are other people here. I can only wait and see what time will bring. There is plenty of food. Evidently, someone's paying the utilities because there's gas and electricity. I just wish I could find others. James and Maria only talked for a little while and left. I found a guy named Eddie, but he was just creepy. I didn't want to talk to him.

I wonder if there's any news of dad back home. Maybe he's back already. I left him a note, just in case he returned while I was gone. I didn't think he would, but maybe he'll come and get me. I hope. I don't know how else I'm getting back. James was trying to find his wife, not find a way out. If I see him again, I'll ask him. The way things are here, I'm not counting on seeing anyone again.

I walked on the dock again. I remembered my father's return after one of his business trips. He was so happy. He'd brought home a deer, we frequently ate venison. He always seemed happiest when he returned from those trips. I hoped for weeks it would be like that over the summer. Hoped he would come back with game in the truck or… just something. Anything.

When mom disappeared, he became the house cook. He could carve up game more perfectly than any butcher could. He knew exactly how to slice each different cut and, at the same time, remove any unpleasant trace of fatty tissue or silver skin. My father was all I had. Now, I don't even have him.

I don't know. Maybe there's some strange local vacation or something going on. Where is everyone? Dad? Where are you?


	3. Chapter 5

5.

I had an idea while I showered this morning. I just hadn't gone far enough. I've seen many small towns that have entire blocks in seemingly abandoned states. People moved out for city renovation, bad structures that were poorly created, there's a variety of reasons for why an area might be temporarily without population. So, with thoughts of possible bustling populations just a little farther away, I ventured out into the world.

I first returned to Nathan Avenue and found a shotgun inside an old Oldsmobile. Luckily, there were some bullets in the seat next to it. I'm no marksman, but dad showed me how to use a weapon should I ever need it. I felt a little better.

I decided to see just what was behind the barricade on Carroll Street. I couldn't see very clearly due to the fog here. I crept to the ledge and looked down into the pit below. It didn't look like it had a bottom. There was only darkness below and heat. I heard something running, panting, I turned to see what approached. A lying figure was barreling towards me, apparently very excited.

I didn't have time to use the gun. I dropped to the ground just before the figure reached me. Luckily, it didn't stop in time. It tried, but fell across me and down into the pit. I heard its unearthly scream as it hit whatever was down there. Well, that's one way of dealing with them.

I continued onward from Nathan to Lindsey, down Katz and finally Neely Street. I walked the old bar, it was unlocked, but didn't find anyone. You know the damnedest thing? There was this massive cleaver lying on the counter. I didn't get it. It would've made a helluva weapon, but the strength needed just to wield it would make it impossible for me. I can't deftly sling fifty pounds of metal in any form.

I found several newspaper clippings tacked on the wall at the small bulletin board. One headline read, "Man Shoots 10 Ft. Bear," and the article discussed how Bernard Toole killed a bear that had been attacking house pets and livestock around Highway 73. A strange clipping sat on the counter. You know, it was covered in dust like it had been there for years. It read, "Mad Butcher Strikes Silent Hill."

The Silent Herald Paper discussed a possible serial killer. That's nice. That's just great. I don't know why I'm here. I can't get out. I can't find others. There are monsters everywhere. Now there's a serial killer on the loose. The article read:

"Authorities are frantic to find the culprit responsible for the deaths of several members of the Silent Hill Community. People disappear and only parts of them are found, miles from the scene, weeks later. The last victim, Silas Jenkins, wasn't reunited with his missing part until a week after his burial. The dismembered limb was found in Rosewater Park. Authorities note it is probably someone coming from the interstate. The crime scenes are noted for their cleanliness. No evidence is left, no traces of blood are found and much scrutiny is required to find the few factors that link the crime scenes. Police are not offering details on what links the crimes, they fear it would contaminate any possible pool of suspects. Further information will be available as soon as possible."

I left the bar, I still hoped to run into James and Maria. They're the only halfway normal people I've found. I'm afraid to hope to see them. It doesn't seem like we have much to hope for here. I rounded the corner, just going back the way I came, and a piece of paper sat atop the nearest abandoned cop car. The crumpled up piece of newspaper had been scrawled over in black marker. Someone wrote, "He's got a new home… Go home, Evan." Someone knows I'm here? They know my name? Was it the same person who sent me the postcard? Maybe it was James. Maybe he found my father and he's just too afraid to tell me what happened to him.

I traveled back to Nathan Avenue to return to the resort. I didn't think I could do anything more. I remember stopping at the Rosewater Park entrance. I don't know why. I just felt so tired. I stopped and sat on a bench for a minute. Someone said, "Hey? Who're you?"

She was alone, like me. She was pretty, but she's a lot like James and Maria. Something's wrong with her like something's wrong with them. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's just being in this town, nothing feels right. Food's fine, not expired, but it tastes… off. The fog is pretty, soft, but exceptionally so. Unlike anything I've ever felt. When it's autumn in Ashland, every morning is foggy. Textures, subtle and minute, are altered here. Cotton feels more like silk. Salt feels more like sand. Even my usual brand of soda is almost sickeningly sweet.

Angela told me she was on her way to see her father's grave at the cemetery, out by the lake. I walked with her, I would eventually pass the resort and I could use the company. She's been here a few years, she lived here growing up. She carries a kitchen knife with her. It would seem out-of-place anywhere else. I guess anything will do when lying figures, or whatever they are, are everywhere.

We hiked to the cemetery. I didn't realize how large the town really was. Maybe I should see if I could find a map. Sometimes I suspect the geography changes here. You know, I thought several times I was on completely different streets. I wonder if there's something disorienting in the air. Maybe there's a strange chemistry in that fog. I find it easier to believe the town's just screwed up and there isn't any logic to be found.

Angela was very moody. Maybe it's grief, but I'm grieving over my father, too. I'm not pushing it off onto anyone else. Angela's father died in an accident, she said. That's simple, basic and straightforward. I don't know who kidnapped my father. There's someone responsible for his disappearance. After all this time, they're probably responsible for his death, too.

You know, that cleaver at Neely's made me remember dad's. He had a very small metal fabrication area in the garage out back. He made all kinds of things, swords, metal helmet replicas, antique weapons from movies. He was good at that, too. My father was the Jack-of-all-Trades. Strangely enough, he apparently found something he couldn't master or explore. He didn't come back from wherever he went.

I wish Angela would've been normal. I left her yelling at her father's grave. Maybe in a few weeks I'll be like that. But, I won't even have a grave to yell at, I'll just be yelling at anything.

I came back to the hotel and found a folded newspaper from the Silent Herald on the desk. "Room 208" was written in scrawling pen on the top. It was dated five years ago. Someone knows more about me than I do about them. The headline read, "Search Intensifies in Disappearance of Ava Townsend."

Why were they leaving me information on my mother? She had nothing to do with this town. Did she? I never remember her mentioning the name Silent Hill, not even one time. I should've stopped there, but I didn't. I just had to read the damned thing. I will include the article text:

"Ava Townsend, 35, of Ashland, has been missing for three days now. Authorities are hopeful that as more information on her and her photograph circulates, more leads will be forthcoming. Ava was last seen at home by a neighbor. It is noted that she seemed to be in good spirits and multiple neighbors have remarked on her optimistic and relaxed nature. She was last seen in a pair of black pajama pants and a loose tee-shirt. Her husband, Hugh Townsend, reported leaving home to help a client across town. When he returned, she was gone. There were no signs of a struggle, but the front door was wide open…"

That's all I feel like including. Screw it. Dad never said he was home. He never once told me he was just across town. He always, always, ALWAYS told me he was working on a breaker, with that crew, in Brahams. When he came back, she was gone. What the hell? Why would he lie to me? I don't want to trust this. I don't want to think he would lie, not dad. Maybe it's the insanity surrounding me, but I can't help wondering what else he has lied about. I feel horrible for even thinking it.

Where the hell is he? Why isn't he here clearing this up with me? What am I supposed to do? Why am I here? If I don't find something… anything… in this screwed up place I'm going crazy.


	4. Chapter 6

6.

I'm feeling a little better, a little more adjusted with the possibilities. I've tried to recall just what happened back then, when mom disappeared. It was five years ago, I don't understand why it's so difficult. Maybe my brain is protecting me from trauma, but you know it's a little late for that.

I've tried to remember anything, inconsistencies, possible errors in my father's words. Who knows? It could've all been a lie. Could my father really have been responsible for my mother's disappearance? Why? I don't remember them fighting. I don't remember minor arguments between them. Unfortunately, even that peace seems suspicious now. All couples at least disagree at some point, its part of life.

I came home after school; dad was in the kitchen with his head in his hands. He told me she was missing. That he looked all day for her. He came in from Brahams and she was gone.

According to the article in front of me, he came in from work, and then left to visit a client's house on the other side of town. Why? He'd been gone for two days due to that breaker. What were they doing over there? I can barely remember. Oh, they replaced the circuitry on the breaker for the Brahams community. They needed to work quickly because the majority of the town did without power for twelve hours.

He would've slept when he came in, wouldn't he? Why did he immediately go to the other side of town without sleeping? He never did that before and didn't do it after. He always went to bed when he came home after those long trips.

I remember within the week, he'd packed up all her things. I remember. He said he would buy her a new wardrobe when they found her because she always wanted one. I don't remember that. I never recall her saying anything about not liking her clothes.

When I came home from school that day, her things were gone. He said he took them to the consignment shop. Why did he do that? Why didn't anyone else notice anything? Wasn't that suspicious enough? Damn it, why does this happen now?

He had no right to do that. She was missing, not dead… or was she dead? Had she died and he already knew? That was it. It had to be. He knew she wouldn't be back. He couldn't stand recalling because he felt guilty. Forgive me, Dad, if I'm wrong. I don't think I am.

The police never returned to the house. They didn't search beyond Ashland's limits. They sent out her photograph and flyers, but who knows who actually saw them? They could've been trashed as soon as they arrived in other areas. Dad didn't participate in the search for her. I remember that. He was always at home. Said I needed to know there was someone at home because I'd been used to having that security with mom.

Those monsters are coming in here, now. You know I've killed 2 lying figures in the resort today. One was in the basement and one was in the lobby. I'm being overrun. The resort isn't as safe as I'd thought… or hoped. How do they get in here? They don't have any friggin' arms, they can't open latches or turn knobs.

I also encountered another creature. I just caught a flash of him or it. It's massive. I can't fight it, not even with a shotgun. He's huge, has a metal plate partially covering his face, and a strange, filthy apron. He carries the big cleaver I saw in Neely's. I think he's about three feet taller than I am. I just caught a flash of him walking into the kitchen. I ran the other way. After an hour or so, I checked the kitchen and he was gone. Thank God. I don't know what it is, but I don't want to meet it.

I went to the Reading Room for a while. I found several books on the strange rituals of the indigenous populations at Silent Hill. No thanks. I'm seeing enough bizarre oddities without having that added to my brain. Whatever they did is their business and I believe, without doubt, they were successful in something. I don't know if they meant to make the town like it is, but they succeeded. I, for one, don't intend on staying any longer than I have to.

I found a brochure for The Lakeview Resort that said it was allegedly haunted. I hate to admit it, but I laughed for a while. I couldn't help it. I think that is the most understated tourist paraphernalia I have ever read. Maybe they would be better off by just admitting that this place is Purgatory. It's Purgatory and we're all dead. Or crazy. Maybe even both.

I've had "313" on my brain, from the post discussing the Little Baroness. I checked at the reading area, but still couldn't find anything mentioning March 13th. I don't know if I can ever make sense of it. I considered that, perhaps, that was the day the ship sank and fell to its watery grave.

It was around this time that I had a vision. Actually, I've never experienced one before, so I'm not sure if it's a vision or not. It's not like I can call anyone to ask them. I saw my mother and father together. They were fighting. I can't remember them even arguing, but I saw this as plain as this notepad. They were physically fighting. My mother kept yelling, "I know what you are." She yelled it three times and ended up screaming it several times. My father was throwing her around, he finally threw her against the wall and she went quiet.

Is my brain inventing things from my childhood? Or worse, did these things really happen? There's no one left to ask. My cell phone died and I don't have my charger. I just thought I was driving a few hours away. I didn't know I'd break down and literally be a world away from my house. A world away and completely lost. Maybe this is Silent Hill, maybe it isn't. It's unlike any place I've ever been.

It worries me. If I can recall this today, what will I recall tomorrow? I don't want to resurrect the dead. I don't want to see my parents fighting or that my father was not who I believed him to be. I guess no kid wants that.

Just a week ago, I was going to work about now. I took up a job with my cousin's construction company when my father never returned. It was a temporary arrangement, just to help me earn some money while waiting to hear from my father. I never dreamed it would come to this. I wonder if I still have a job.

It's funny. A job. What I'd give just to be able to get in my car and go to work. To go _anywhere_. To leave this hateful place.

If my father was really that horrible, what does that make me? I didn't ask to be born of him. I didn't ask to be his son. Does that mean I'm already condemned to be like him? You know, just a few days ago, I wanted to be just like him. Calm, collected, in control of life, capable of taking the good and bad without even breaking a sweat. Now, I don't even know if I want to remember him.

What did my mother know about him? _"I know what you are."_ I can still hear her so vividly. She was so angry and afraid. I don't know what he was. I don't know what I am. I only know that it's a long way back home and there's no one to tell me how to get back.


	5. Chapter 7

7.

I woke this morning and thought I heard the sound of rain. For a second, I thought I was at home. For an instant, I thought everything was normal. This place is driving me crazy. Sometimes it seems like this is my home and I will never go anywhere else. This is where I will be for years to come, without others, without anything else.

I went to the Reading Room again after breakfast. It was more out of boredom than any hope of resolution. I don't think there is resolution at this point. There aren't any answers to have. The more I try to find answers, the harder they flee from my grasp. It's pointless, isn't it?

I found a book of newspaper clippings and decided to flip through them. Why not? There was nothing else to do. I hadn't noticed the book before, but what can you expect here? I think the book was tailor made for me. I'll copy some of the articles here. I'm not taking any books or documents from here, aside from this notepad, when I leave:

Silent Herald

July 6

"The Mad Butcher claimed another victim. We aren't sure of the body's identity as the remains are in the advanced stages of decomposition. Authorities will begin the process for a dental match within the week. It is believed the corpse is female, but has no identification at all. The only garment anywhere near the body was a tee-shirt, and that was riddled with holes and tears from animals. The body is missing several parts, which would fit the MO of the serial killer we've been covering…"

I think they found my mother. Dad never told me about it. As far as I know, no one knew about it. If only the year had been clipped with the article. Most of the clippings in the book are missing years.

Silent Herald

August 9

"Authorities believe they have a suspect in the murderous spree that has brought pain and terror on the communities of Silent Hill and Brahams. Hugh Townsend was brought in for questioning for the deaths of 10 people. The judge has issued a stringent gag order and has forbid media coverage outside of general information…"

When was this? Where was I? I couldn't believe my eyes when I read it. My father? How can you grasp something of that magnitude? My father wouldn't kill. He… but, I didn't know him. I didn't know who he was, did I? How can a kid be so oblivious?

I looked up from the article and around the room for a moment. What was I really doing there? Who sent me that postcard? Why was I learning so much from old newspaper clippings, from newspapers I'd never heard of, in a town I knew nothing about?

It was too much for coincidence. Someone wanted me there. Someone wanted me to see something. But, who? That was what puzzled me the most. Who? I had no family aside from my parents.

While I questioned everything, Angela entered the Reading Room. I wasn't in the mood to hear her verbal eruptions. I wasn't happy to see her. "There's something you should know…" She sat down across from me without an invitation. I wanted to tell her to leave, but I couldn't. I was compelled to hear her out.

"What?"

"I sent you that postcard."

"What? Why?"

"You needed to know about your father, Evan. You needed to see for yourself."

"Was that your business?"

"I made it my business."

"Why?"

"Because he was like my father… worse in his own way. At least my father kept his brutality at home. I know you loved him. I'm sorry you have to learn all this, but you need to see it now. You can move on now that you know the truth."

"What truth?" I was hurt, but I was angry, too. I was not Angela, nothing like her. How dare she send me around this place on nothing more than obscurity? "How could you invite me here? Why didn't you call me or visit me? Why here? It's dangerous here."

"I can't leave, Evan. Ever. I'm not sure I want to. I was born here, grew up here and, for some reason, I just can't leave now."

"What truth was I supposed to learn?" I stood. "This is ridiculous. I had a life back home, a job, I hoped to go to college. I can't stay here forever and chase anything."

"You will. There's one last place you need to look."

"What are you talking about?"

"For your answers. So you can know the truth. There's one last place."

"Where's that?"

"Room 313."

"What? Did you carve that into the post outside?"

"No. The town did. I'm just helping you along. You haven't been there, yet."

"The town did…" I couldn't respond to one statement before the other completely overwhelmed my thoughts. Of course. It wasn't a date at all. It was room 313.

I didn't say anything else to her, but I left. I went to the steps that led to the third floor. I was surprised not to see any figures anywhere. All seemed to be quiet. I remember standing outside that door. My heart was pounding so hard I could watch it under my shirt. I didn't want to go in. I was scared of what I would find.

I opened the door to a silent, dark room. I walked in and tried to feel for the light switch. I remember the door closed and locked behind me. I struggled with it, I tried to get it back open, but it held fast. I finally found a switch and turned the lights on.

I was sickened when light came. The walls were covered in Polaroid photographs. There were scenes of the most gruesome tortures imaginable. There were sprays of gore in haphazard patterns across the carpet. I saw my father's hand in the pictures when I neared. I looked all of those photographs over. He took pictures while he murdered them. I know his hand. I knew his wedding ring.

I broke down. I was so glad Angela wasn't there, I cried like a baby. What did that make me? If that was my father, and I was his son, what would become of me? Would I turn into him?

I went to the closet. I knew I should open the door, it was a compulsion. I did. A pair of my father's workpants hung in the closet. They were bloody. His assault rifle leaned against the wall of the wardrobe. A few strands of what appeared to be fresh entrails hung across the rod beside the clothes hangers.

Puddles of gore had formed in the bottom, the base of the rifle had been submerged. I looked at the magazine, it was full. I had two sizable weapons. I remember I was happy to be so armed, anyway.

I heard the bathroom door come open. I turned. My heart about stopped when I saw him. It was that thing from the kitchen, only it had my father's face. My father's face. I know my jaw dropped. A portion of his face was covered in metal, but the other side was exposed. I know my father's face and that was it.

"Dad?" I asked, my voice was so quiet. I assumed he didn't hear me, vainly hoped he hadn't noticed me.

He approached with a cleaver almost as large as me. He was a monster. His body was taller and wider, his skin was mottled and dead. "Evan." It spoke. It actually spoke as it approached me. It sounded like he had a mouth full of glass and gore when he spoke.

I backed up to the wall, he came closer. I backed up to the door and it still wouldn't open. He raised the cleaver, "Dad," I screamed, but he didn't listen. I begged for him to stop, but he wouldn't.

It was then I realized my father, the father who raised me, was gone. He was just as dead as my mother. I remember I raised my rifle and pulled the trigger. The automatic firing continued as I shot my own father. What kind of monster am I? I am my father's son.

He swung the cleaver and it got lodged in the wall, but I kept shooting. It was instinctive. He fell before he could dislodge it. Strangely enough, the door unlocked when he fell. I fled. I didn't stay to make sure he was dead, he was dead before I ever shot him.

I ran down the steps into the Reading Room, but Angela was gone. I don't even know what I was going to say to her. Everything was quiet. No monsters, no lying figures, nothing.

It was then that I decided I was leaving. Regardless. I found a backpack and filled it with food and what camping equipment I could locate. I am walking out of here if I have to go 50 miles, or more, on foot.

This is my last entry. As I write, I am dressed and ready to leave. Wish me luck. I don't know if I'll make it. Angela was right, I did find my answers. Now, I just need to survive the repercussions of finding those answers. Maybe I owe her. Maybe I'll see her again if I don't make it, I can thank her. Goodbye.


	6. Chapter 1

1.

This is my second day at the secluded Lakeview Resort. I decided to write this down and keep it with me, because I don't plan on staying here long. Normally, this is something I would put on my laptop, but Silent Hill is a strange place. The telephones don't work and computers don't do any better. It can't be a problem with the electricity as everything else works just fine. Cell phone reception doesn't exist here.

In truth, I wouldn't have stayed if not for my car. Looking back, I'm not sure what I expected to find when I arrived in Silent Hill. I tried to dodge a falling tree, but couldn't. I hit the damned thing and my radiator burst, antifreeze water spilled all across the road and left a rainbow trail. That wasn't the weird thing. That was only where the weird shit started. I am going to write this down because when I get out of here, I'm never coming back. I want a record to remind me why I should never come back. If I ever get out of here.

I tried to find someone at an old place called the Lighthouse. Well, it was a lighthouse, but I don't know what it is now other than closed, it was the same with the old Lakeside Amusement Park. I walked here and tried to check in. I waited for two hours, but there was no sign of another person. Silent Hill is full of everything, but people.

I am only here for my father. He always told me how much he loved Lakeside. He disappeared two months ago and the only communication I've had from him was a postcard. The police weren't any help, but I didn't think they would be. I'm 18 and they said my father could come and go as he pleased, we were all adults. I know my father. This wasn't like him.

The post card said, "Room 208" and that's where I am now. When I arrived, I couldn't find a clerk, but the key was hanging behind the desk. I eventually found my way inside and took it. I've been here since. I don't understand any of this. My father was never an obscure person. He didn't just leave or take unannounced trips. He wasn't stressed. That's one of the reasons that cop gave me for not doing anything. "Many people don't like to face responsibility…" Not dad. He faced everything. He worked as an electrician; I mean it was hardly a job on Wall Street or anything that warranted hopeless anxiety.

I woke up this morning to another foggy day. I don't think the sun ever shines in Silent Hill. Toluca Lake is beautiful despite the bad weather. I wish I'd come with him more often. My memories of Lakeview are pretty old, these past few years, he came on fishing trips to the lake with his brother, Hector Townsend.

My mother, Ava, disappeared five years ago. If it weren't my family, I would be suspicious. But, it is my family and aside from the odd disappearance, we're perfectly normal.

I graduated from high school with honors in English, but haven't written since graduation. I always wanted to go into journalism, but don't know if I can get my life together to even try.


	7. Chapter 2

2.

I found a skeleton key in the cloak room today. I didn't think I'd get in to the cloak room to begin with, but the key was in the employee elevator. About half the rooms are opened, so the rest must be occupied. I guess. Who knows here? If rooms can be occupied with no sign of life, they're nearly full.

I don't think I've ever been so happy to find a stupid key. This place changes you. The old rusty bronze key is heavy, but opens everything. I got into the restaurant and fixed some actual food. I ate in silence while I watched the lake. I brought some beef jerky and soda with me, but I finished that off yesterday. I thought I was going to have to break in a store in town because all of them were closed yesterday. I don't know if they would be any different now or not. It's a long walk to be disappointed.

I don't know how this town operates. It's in terrible shape. Abandoned cars litter the road side, some parts of the roads are completely fallen in and there are blockades everywhere. What are they blocking off? Or in? Or is it out?

I still haven't located another person. Several times I swear, it felt like someone was near me, but there wasn't. I'm not really sure what I should do. I can't use the telephone. My cell phone doesn't get reception. The televisions might as well be broken because apparently they've never heard of cable here, either. I guess I just wait until I find a garage or see dad. Where could he be?

I found a massive, ornate music box in the lobby. It was actually very beautiful, not that I'm really into that sort of thing. I'm just an average kid, I guess. According to the cop, I'm a grown man, but I don't feel it. My father disappeared just after graduation night and I've coasted through life since. I didn't enroll in college this semester. I couldn't. I can't focus on studies. I can't think of what I want to be "when I grow up." I enjoy writing, but always suspected I would end up as an electrician, like dad. I don't know now.

I've been watching the lake through the windows in the café. What is the name of it? I think its Café Toluca. Public places are creepy without people to occupy them. I found a crumpled up receipt there, dad's signature, dad's credit card. I know he's here. I just don't know where.

I may try to get into Venus Tears. Dad wasn't a big drinker, but he would drink around others. Maybe there's some clue as to where he went or what he was doing here. You know the strange thing? The writing on the postcard, now that I look at it, it wasn't dad's. I don't know who wrote it. I don't know why they didn't specify what they meant. Why couldn't they tell me what I needed to do?

The Reading Room may be another good place. Dad always liked to know his geography when he went hunting or fishing, he said it a million times. He might've gone there to look at some local maps.

I've tried all summer to recall exactly what happened that day. You know, I should remember it more than anything. It was the day my father vanished. I don't. I don't know why I can't remember more. I recall coming home from Frankie's house. He was accepted at the University of Virginia that day. I stopped and grabbed a pizza on the way home. I didn't know what dad would be doing, he'd taken the week off.

I came home, the front door was open. Not just unlocked, but wide open. I remember that much. We didn't live in an area where everything had to be locked at all times, but you didn't leave your doors wide open, either. Wild animals would come in if we did.

His truck was gone. I remember a smear of red on the floor of the garage, where his truck would've been. I figured it was paint, he'd been painting Mrs. Grigsby's dresser for her, it looked just like the color she picked out, a god-awful dark rusty red. It was her color, she said.

I can't remember much after that. A day later, I called the cops, they sent a man over, he looked at the garage, looked at the smear, and scolded me for trying to control my father. He said it wasn't any of my business where he went or who he was with, he was a grown man. There was no reason to suspect foul play so I should leave it alone. I tried the National Center for Missing Adults, too. They listed him, but I didn't hear any more.

The policeman came three months ago. I never heard anything else. I got the postcard, like I said, but it wasn't in his handwriting. I figured this was as good a place as any to find him. Maybe he hit a midlife crisis or something. He never struck me as the type to have such a crisis, but who knows?

I'm getting ready to turn in for the night. I'll write more if I think of anything. It's not like there's anything else to do here and I don't know how long it would take me to leave the area if I have to walk. I drove through most of the town. I counted tens of streets and it took me twenty minutes off the interstate before I arrived in town. I think it had been an hour since I left that other town, before I arrived in Silent Hill. I can't imagine how long it would take to walk it.


End file.
